Hunted
by starbrightnights
Summary: A nice, romantic day out in the woods was meant to be just that. But when they try and leave to get back to the Bus, Fitzsimmons find themselves going round in circles, and as night draws in, they get the awful feeling that someone, or something, is keeping them there on purpose... Set just over a year after the season one finale.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, I wasn't going to start another story until I'd finished Glimpses, but this one caught hold of me and I had to get it out. I watched a film yesterday called 'In Fear', starring the lovely Iain De Caestecker (it really freaked me out), and it inspired me to write a Fitzsimmons fic based around the same idea of getting lost and going round and round in circles, with their situation getting creepier and creepier. If you've seen the film, you'll recognise certain elements I've taken from it.**

**Set in a nondescript part of England. The name 'Avonbury Woods' is made up.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own or have anything to do with Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., or In Fear. I am simply inspired by them.**

* * *

The sun hangs low in the sky and dapples gold through the trees and onto the dusty, foliage-littered ground below, patches of light that are gently fading as the Earth tilts away from the giant, fiery star and into night.

It's peaceful here, even with the calls of the wildlife. A stream glistens as it bubbles over small rocks, and a thirsty squirrel scrabbles down the side of the shallow bank in order to drink from it, its tiny tongue lapping at the water, until it is startled and chased away by the sound of twigs snapping and the rumble of distant chatter.

"This has been the most perfect day, Fitz - I wish we could do this more often."

"It's been a while, hasn't it? Pass me the water bottle, would you?"

"Do you think we have enough samples?"

"Jemma, we - and by we, I mean _you_ - have more than enough." Fitz takes the bottle from her hand, unscrews the cap and then sips from it. "Will we ever have an outing where you don't grab something to take back to the lab?"

"I like to analyse, you- Oh, look, a deer!" she whispers excitedly, not wanting to scare it.

Fitz rolls his eyes, but his expression is affectionate as she takes out her camera and lines up the perfect shot before pressing the shutter release. It's only the hundredth photo of a deer she's taken that day. All right, so that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but Fitz is certain that it's more than he can count on his fingers.

"She's a beauty," Jemma breathes, staring at the deer with a look of enchantment.

"Yep, a regular Bambi".

"Bambi was a stag, not a doe."

"Don't be picky, Simmons."

Jemma's eyes widen, and her mouth falls open. She splutters. "It's... it's _biology_!"

Fitz snickers, and Jemma narrows her eyes at him and then bumps him with her shoulder. Joker.

They walk on a little further until they reach a small dirt track, and, to Fitz's relief, their rented car. His feet are killing him.

He opens the boot, and they dump their rucksacks inside and change out of their hiking boots into more comfortable footwear. The day has been extremely warm, bordering on hot, which isn't completely unheard of in late September in England, and they both sigh with relief as they free their feet and let them dangle for a minute in the cooling air as they sit on the edge of the car.

"Your shoulders are a little red," Fitz notes, as Jemma leans back on her hands.

She turns her head to inspect the one closest to him. "Oh, no," she tuts. "I've been so meticulous with reapplying the sun lotion. And you'd think with all the trees around..."

"Must have been when we stopped in that clearing for lunch. We were more exposed. How's my face?" He asks, thrusting it closer to his partner.

Jemma places a hand to his jaw and turns his head this way and that. "All fine. Although..." she runs a thumb across the tip of his right ear, "your ears are a little pink."

Fitz huffs. "Off all the bloody places. Oh, well, at least it wasn't my nose." He pulls on his trainers. "We should get going if we're to make it back to the Bus for nine."

"Yes," Jemma sighs. She quickly slips on her Chucks and then slams the boot shut. They've been working so hard, lately, and this rare, free day before they had to fly back to the base after their latest mission was a blessing. But even Coulson had needed a break, so they'd taken advantage of it to its fullest. They'd even just made it in time for dinner with Jemma's parents the night before.

Fitz opens the driver's side door, and then recoils as a wave of cloying heat washes over him. "Jesus," he says, coughing. "Give that a sec. Even I don't fancy sitting in that until the air-con kicks in. Open yours."

Jemma does, then walks round the front of the car and leans against it. The metal is warm, but thankfully not scalding, not now it isn't in direct sunlight. She idly examines a small scratch on her thigh near the edge of her shorts, which she received when she stumbled over a large tree root and fell into the trunk of it, then a shadow looms over her, and she looks up with a smile as Fitz stands between her legs and leans down to kiss her. She sighs into his mouth as she takes his face in her hands, letting him tip her backwards onto the bonnet as he hooks one hand around the back of her left knee, drawing her leg up, the other sliding into her hair.

"Do you think Bambi's watching?" Fitz murmurs against her lips, and Jemma snorts and whacks him lightly on the the arm. He grins, and then kisses her thoroughly.

He stops when his hand comes into contact with something sharp in her hair, and he opens his eyes and pulls his lips away from hers so he can inspect it further.

"Ow! What are you-"

"Sorry, sorry." He holds up what he's found. "Twig."

Jemma puts a hand to her hair, fussing with it. "Are there anymore? I thought I'd got them all."

"Nope," Fitz assures, helping her check. "That's it. Worth it, though," he adds, with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a cheeky smile.

"Mmm..." Jemma hums, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him again. "Definitely."

"You do realise we probably traumatised some wildlife with our little floor-show."

"Oh, they'll be fine."

"Want to traumatise them again?"

Jemma smacks him on the arm for a second time. She sits up a little, forcing a laughing Fitz to move back. "Weren't you just saying we had to leave now in order to get back in time?" She can't help but smirk.

Fitz sighs, and presses his forehead against hers. "Yeah. Don't want to be on the receiving end of May's wrath if she misses our take-off slot." He stands straight and pulls her up. "Still, it's not my fault I can't keep my hands off you."

"Oh, and it's mine?" Jemma questions, walking to her side of the car.

Fitz grins at her across the roof. "Well, you are looking quite irresistible today. Not that you aren't normally," he adds, quickly.

She breathes a laugh. "Nicely saved. Get in the car."

They both slide in, grateful that it's now a little cooler inside. Fitz starts the engine and turns on the air-conditioning, and they set off, turning onto the main road through the woods. The sun is a little lower now, a pale wash of colour against a sky that is slowly darkening.

Jemma opens her window and stretches her arm out, her fingers catching the last shreds of light. She closes her eyes. "I'm so relaxed."

"Well, you would be - you're not driving." Fitz steals a quick glance at her. Her beauty still takes his breath away after all this time. Her English-rose complexion is a pearlescent glow in the blue of the on-coming twilight, and she looks almost otherworldly.

"I can if you want me to."

"Don't be daft, driving on this side of the road is a novelty, now. I'm going to take advantage of it. I've missed the left."

Jemma chuckles. "As if you can miss a side of the road."

"I do!" He peers down at the GPS for a second. "'No satellite signal'. Typical."

"Well, I'm sure we won't get lost - it'll be signposted. It can't be that hard to find our way back."

"Nope, not with my keen sense of direction. Did I tell you I was a Boy Scout for a while?" Fitz asks, in a way which suggests that yes, he has.

Jemma rolls her eyes playfully. "Yes..."

The dense trees soon give way to fields, and they turn onto a bumpy, narrow lane. Fitz wrinkles his nose.

"Mmm, the smell of the countryside."

"That's nothing when you've had your nose inside a cadaver."

Fitz shudders involuntarily, grimacing. "We're still on our romantic-woodland-countryside adventure - no dead body talk. What did we say? No mission talk, no talking shop, just you, me, and the great outdoors. Plus the sample pots you snuck along. Cheeky mare."

Jemma mimes zipping her mouth shut, then leans forward to switch the radio on. "Oh!" she exclaims, happily, as the familiar strains of Blur's Country House filter through. "I haven't heard this in ages!"

"Ah, nineties Britpop. Can you believe we were seven when this came out?"

They sing along loudly, the memory of every single lyric still intact, until static interferes with the reception and turns the music into white noise. Jemma fiddles with the tuner, but can't pick the signal back up. In fact, the radio isn't picking up anything at all, on any station. She turns it off.

"Well, that was short-lived."

"Want me to have a fiddle with the aerial?"

"No," she sighs. "I guess we'll just have to talk to each other."

Fitz sticks his tongue out at her, and she laughs.

The road bends, curving this way and that for a moment before straightening back out again and leading to a T-junction. Fitz slows to a stop, peering at the sign in front of them, which is pointing left and says 'Avonbury Woods'.

"That's odd. Why is only the woods signposted?"

"Well, that's okay, we just have to go right, then."

But, as they soon find, turning right doesn't seem to be leading them to where they want to go, the trees getting thicker again.

"Fitz, where are we?"

"I don't know."

"What happened to your "Keen sense of direction"?" she teases.

Fitz pulls the car over. "Hush. There's a map in the glove box."

Jemma reaches forward and snaps it open, but there's nothing in there apart from the car manual. Eyes knitted together, she looks at him. "It's not here."

"What?" Fitz leans over and inspects the compartment for himself. "But I put it in there, I know I did."

"Hang on, I'll check the boot." Jemma opens her door and slips out, the 'door open' alarm sounding. Fitz presses the button to pop the boot, frowning to himself. He _knows_ he put it in the glove box. He can remember quite clearly. After a few moments, Jemma's voice floats round.

"It's not here, either!"

Fitz worries his lip between his teeth as she slides back into the car and shuts the door, thankfully cutting off the annoying, repetitive dinging.

"I put it in there, Jemma, I'm absolutely certain." Fitz taps his hands against the steering wheel, agitated. He always went out prepared.

Jemma puts a hand on his wrist to calm his worry. Then her eyebrows shoot up as she has an idea. "Our phones! How could we have forgotten?" She digs hers out and unlocks it.

Fitz brightens a little. "Good old Google maps."

_Signal lost. Emergency calls only._

"Oh, for goodness sake." Jemma flashes Fitz her phone screen. "No signal. Check yours."

"We're on the same network."

"Well, check anyway."

So he does, and then shows her the same message. He opens his mouth, but is quickly cut off.

"Don't!"

"What?"

"You know what. You were going to say "I told you so"."

Fitz puts his phone away. "I was not." He couldn't have said that anymore unconvincingly if he tried. He turns and leans towards her, crooking a finger under her chin to tilt it up and dropping a kiss on her lips.

Jemma smiles. "Mmm, that's much better." She slides a hand round the back of Fitz's neck and holds him there, her fingers toying with the hair at his nape as she kisses him back for a few seconds before releasing him. "We really should make a move."

"Yeah." He grins at her.

She can't help but return it, even though her eyes are questioning. "What?"

"I love you."

Jemma leans her forehead again his. "I love you, too. Now, drive."

"Yes, m'lady."

A couple of minutes go by in comfortable silence. Jemma stares up at the sky and notes the clouds that are now rolling in.

"Looks like it's going to rain."

But Fitz isn't listening. Instead, he's staring at a spot just ahead of them, looking puzzled. He slows the car to a stop again. "Jemma?"

"Yeah?"

"Isn't that the track we were parked down? And I'm only asking to make sure my eyes aren't playing tricks on me, because I know it's the same track because there's that tree you said-"

"-looks like an old wizard. But how..." Jemma starts, staring incredulously at the spot they'd left only quarter of an hour before. "Maybe... Maybe we missed a turning. It might have been hidden. You know what these country roads are like, all overgrown hedgerows and barely enough room to swing a cat."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Damn countryside."

"You were loving it, earlier."

"That was before it sent us all topsy-turvy." He presses down on the accelerator. "Let's try this again."


	2. Chapter 2

"Okay, keep your eyes peeled..."

Jemma peers out of the window, looking for any sign of a turning. The car is rolling along slowly at about ten miles-per-hour, and they hope no one else comes along anytime soon because with their pace and these bends, they'll smack right into them. But if there was anything, they'd missed it last time going at thirty.

"Maybe I should keep my eyes on the rear window, look out for any lights from approaching cars - the last thing we need is an accident."

Fitz flicks a quick glance at Jemma and nods. She looks anxious, and she's right, this isn't the best thing to be doing on a narrow, winding road.

"Yeah, that's a good idea."

But soon, they end up exactly where they started again.

Fitz sighs and rubs a hand across his forehead as he pulls the car to the side of the road.

"I know!" Jemma suddenly shouts out enthusiastically, startling Fitz and making him jolt in his seat. He stares at her with wide eyes.

"Was that necessary?"

"Sorry," she replies, sheepishly. "Anyway, what if the sign pointing to the woods was moved?"

"Why would anyone move a sign?"

Jemma turns in her seat to face him, pulling at her seatbelt so it doesn't cut into her shoulder. "Maybe it fell down and someone picked it up and put it back in the wrong place. It's worth a try."

"Yeah," Fitz nods. "Maybe." He puts the car into gear. "Third time lucky?"

"Third time lucky."

As it turns out, third time lucky can go take a long walk off a short cliff.

"What the hell?!" Fitz thumps the steering wheel in frustration. They're back by the stupid wizard tree, and how, just, _how_?!

"Fitz..." Jemma puts a gentle hand on his arm.

He huffs out a breath. "Sorry," he says, tipping his head back so it bumps against the headrest. "I just don't know what's going on. How can the opposite road still bring us back here? How are we going round in circles?"

"I don't know." Jemma takes her phone back out and lights up the screen.

"Anything?"

She shakes her head. "No, not even a bar. Now what do we do?"

Twilight has fully set in now, but the clouds that are creeping in are making it darker than it actually is, and the atmosphere is suddenly oppressive and intimidating. A rumble of thunder echoes in the distance.

Fitz reaches forward and turns the air-con off. Jemma looks questioningly at him.

"Your arms are starting to look like a plucked chicken," he explains.

"I thought you were still hot, so I didn't say anything."

"Daft girl."

Jemma smiles at him. "Come on, let's try again. It's _us_. How could we possibly not be able to find our way back?"

This time, there's a development.

"Fitz, look! There's a light, across that field."

Fitz breaks and stares towards where Jemma is pointing. He squints his eyes. "If there's a house there, why didn't we see it earlier?"

"Well, we weren't looking for it, were we? We were too busy concentrating on looking for hidden roads."

He thinks for a moment, then reverses the car until he spots a gate and squeezes up against it, getting as much of the car off the road as possible. "Stay here, I won't be long."

Unable to open her own door now it's being hugged by a metal gate, Jemma scrambles over to the drivers side as Fitz exits, and follows him out of the car.

"I'm going with you!"

Fitz turns around and puts a hand out in front of him. "Jem, get back in the car. It's starting to spit, and there's no point in both of us getting wet." He moves past her and leans back in the car to pop the boot.

Jemma frowns, ignores him, and joins him as he walks to the back of the car and pulls out his jacket and a torch.

"Get mine, too."

"Jem..."

"I'm not staying, so you can get that idea out of your head. What if something happens to you?"

"Walking across a field?"

"Pass me my raincoat."

Fitz closes his eyes for a moment, then exhales loudly and hands her her coat and the other torch. "Come on, then."

Another rumble of thunder rolls across the sky, closer than before, and a flash of lightning splits through the clouds in the distance. The rain has yet to get any heavier, but it won't be long. It's cooler now, as well, a light wind bringing the temperature down as the storm approaches.

Gate climbed, they hurry across the field, torches shining a path in front of them. The ground has been recently ploughed, and lumps of soil squish under their feet as they walk.

"They're going to be really mad at us, aren't they? It's..." Jemma checks her phone, "... Nearly eight-thirty."

"They can't be mad over something that we have no control over."

"I don't think saying "We got lost" when you're a SHIELD agent is a viable excuse. It's not like we're in the middle of the desert."

Fitz takes hold of her hand, the warmth of her skin comforting. "We'll sort it. There's not much that you and I can't do when we're together. We'll be back before we know it. We'd better be, anyway - I'm dying for a brew."

"Yes, there's nothing a good cup of tea can't fix."

They continue to trudge through the dirt, until Fitz stops them. He tilts his head to the side, staring at the light they've been heading towards - something's wrong.

"Jemma, that's not a house-light." he takes a couple of steps, and then stops again. "We'd be able to see something by now. There's nothing there. Look at it - it's just a little circle of white. It's not that it's just too far in the distance - in fact, I think it's a lot closer than we thought."

"But that's... How can there just be a light in the middle of a field?"

Fitz straightens up. "Let's go back."

Jemma tugs on his sleeve. "No, wait... Hello?!"

"What are you doing?!"

"Well, if someone's out there..."

"Don't you think they would have noticed us by now, with our torches swinging around, and shouted at us to get off their land? That light has not moved."

Jemma purses her lips. "Well, I'm sorry, but what else are we meant to do?"

"Why on _Earth_ would someone be sitting in the middle of a dark field with a lamp? What, are they singing nursery rhymes to their newly planted crops to help them settle in?" Fitz whispers, more harshly than he intended, but he's on edge and none of this makes any sense.

Jemma huffs. She doesn't say anything, she just puffs air out forcefully like a baby dragon trying to learn how to breathe fire, and stomps off towards the light.

Fitz hurries after her - because he's not about to let her go wandering off in the dark on her own towards goodness knows what - and catches her by the elbow.

"Slow down. The last thing we need is for you to go flying and land on your face."

She whirls round. "Then stop being so stubborn! We need to get out of here, and I'm not missing any opportunities."

They continue on in silence, the kind of silence that's like a toddler sulking on the naughty step, and it's not long before they cross a wooden fence into another field - grass, this time - and reach the source of the light.

It's a bloody shelter.

With a solar light hanging from where the timber meets in an upside-down V shape at the top of the roof.

_Why_ does it have a light hanging from it?

"Well, at least the cows will be able to find their way to bed," Fitz says, snippily.

Jemma doesn't rise to it. "At least we know, now, that's the main thing. Better than worrying that we've missed something," she says, primly, before turning on her heel and walking back off the way they'd just come.

Fitz sighs. "Jem, wait..."

She stops, but doesn't turn round, just waits for him to reach her instead.

"Come here." He pulls her into a hug, and she resists for a moment to keep up her charade, before melting against him. He kisses the top of her head, then moves back and holds her by her shoulders. "Okay?" he asks, a soft, closed-mouth smile on his lips.

She returns it with one of her own, and nods. "Yeah. I'm just..."

"I know."

They make their way back over the fence and into the first field they'd crossed. They're about half-way back when an ear-splitting sound suddenly pierces the dark, shattering the quietness around them. They jump in fright and cling to each other, crying out against the disruption, until they realise it's the car alarm, the lights flashing ostentatiously through the murkiness of their surroundings.

"Jesus Christ!" Fitz starts to run towards the car, pulling Jemma with him, his nerves frayed.

The spitting rain suddenly turns into a deluge, and they nearly stumble in their haste, kicking up soil as they go, dirty water stinging their eyes.

As they get closer, Fitz stops and looks at Jemma imploringly. "Wait here." He doesn't give her a chance to respond, although a second later she shouts out his name, panicked and partly obscured by the sound of the rain, and then he's slipping over the now wet metal of the gate as he scurries back over. He runs round the car, his torch held firmly, ready to whack anyone who might be trying their hand at hot-wiring, but there's no one there. Relief flooding through him, nervous energy making his skin buzz and tingle, Fitz pulls the keys out of his pocket and kills the alarm.

The sudden silence is deafening.

He flashes the torch around, double-checking for intruders, then moves back round to the gate, and Jemma's already there, her hood shrouding her face a little, her bare legs and canvas-clad feet soaked. He helps her climb over, taking her hand as she jumps down.

"What was it?"

"No idea." He ushers her into the car, climbing in after her as she crosses to her seat.

For a moment, the only sound is their heavy breathing and the rain hammering against the vehicle.

"Car alarms are sensitive, right?" Jemma's fingers are digging into the upholstery as she eyes Fitz expectantly. "I mean, my mum's used to go off all the time - you'd only need a cat to brush up against it and it would scream bloody murder."

"Yeah, yeah, they can be," he replies, a little distracted. Then he hears her shudder, and he turns to her and immediately starts fussing. "Christ. Take that coat off. And your shoes." He starts the engine and turns the heating on, shivering as cool air blasts over him. "Give it a sec," he says, helping her with her coat and then chucking it onto the backseat.

"What about you?" Jemma tugs at his wet collar, and a bead of water slips down his neck and makes his shoulders hunch up. He shucks his jacket off, and it joins Jemma's in the back. Luckily, his trainers are a little more water-resistant than her old pair of Converse.

"Okay." Fitz leans his head back against his seat, the heating now doing its job and warming him enough so that he can think. "We should call the police."

Jemma shoots him that look she always gives him when she thinks he's said something stupid. "This isn't exactly what they'd class as an emergency."

Fitz leans forward on the steering wheel, staring out at the downpour. "We're lost in the arse-end of nowhere, with no map, and no way of calling roadside assistance. The only signal we can get is for the emergency services, so we have no choice."

A flash of lightning illuminates the inside the car momentarily, followed by a shock-wave of crashing thunder, so loud that Jemma flinches at the intensity of it.

Jemma's never been particularly fond of thunder. She knows exactly what causes it, of course, but Fitz can remember a particularly violent storm during their last term at the Academy, when she'd knocked on the door of his dorm in the middle of the night, and he'd opened it to find her pale and nervous, her eyes wide and pleading. He'd instantly moved to let her in, and she'd climbed into his bed and wrapped his quilt around her, her back pressed against the wall and her hands trembling. He'd turned the light on and made her a cup of tea, and she'd smiled at him gratefully as he'd talked nonsense to try and take her mind off it.

She's not so bad with it nowadays, especially when she has something else to concentrate on, but she doesn't have that, now, and their situation isn't helping - her hands are white as they grip the edge of her seat.

"How about we... Let's just... Let's just try one last time," she says, trying to keep her voice level. "Just one last look."

Just as he's about to open his mouth to tell her there's not much point, especially with visibility now so low, he realises that what she needs is the sound of the car moving along the road to help drown out the roar overhead. Just sitting with the engine running isn't enough. He glances at her and, not for the first time, an overwhelming surge of protectiveness crashes through him like a wave.

He gives her hand a quick squeeze. "All right." He pulls his seatbelt on, waits for the 'click' of hers, then carefully manoeuvres the car back onto the road.

There's not actually that much difference in sound, although the swish of the windscreen wipers are an extra distraction. He has to focus all of his concentration on the road in this weather, so he can't chat with her and take her mind off it like he used to. He just hopes that any other cars that come along are driving just as carefully as he is down these dark, tight, treacherously wet roads.

The thing is, though, they've not seen any other cars at all, not since they'd first arrived that morning, and it's been bugging him, because as quiet as these roads can be, you usually meet someone at some point.

But there's been no one else at all.

xxxx

It's been a while since Jemma's hated a storm this much. She trains her eyes on the wipers, letting the 'swish swish' take precedence over every other noise trying to invade her ears. It only works a little.

She just wants to be back at the Bus, sitting at the little island in the kitchen, warm and dry and watching Fitz make her tea just the way she likes it. For some reason he enjoys the task, so she lets him unless she's there first. He's never given her a horrible cup of tea - it's always steeped for the right amount of time, and on the days when they haven't bothered to set out the sugar bowl and the little milk jug so they can help themselves, and he hands it to her fully prepared, it always has the right amount of both in it.

Jemma knows he understood why she wanted to move. To be honest, calling the police might not be such a bad idea, but she hates the thought of wasting their time, of taking them away from a real emergency. Still, they can't keep doing this all night. Although, if they can't get out, what if _they _can't get _in_? That wouldn't happen, would it?

Another peal of thunder booms overhead, and she inhales sharply, and she's not sure that she can dig her fingers much deeper into the foam of her seat.

"Why don't you try the radio again?" Fitz suggests, so she does, even though they both know it's probably pointless.

She switches it on and plays with the tuner, but everything is still just white noise. She sighs and turns it back off, sitting back and turning her head to look out the side window. She'd think someone was playing a cruel trick on them, but she doesn't see how that could be possible. All they're doing is following the roads, and no one can move roads, that's just stupid. But _something _is going on - she can feel it, in the pit of her stomach, and a few minutes later, when the rain seems to easing off and they're back on the road that passes by the woods, that feeling grows.

Fitz parks up and undoes his seatbelt.

"What are you doing?"

"I need the loo. And while I'm doing that, please can you call nine-nine-nine?" he asks, calm, yet serious.

She doesn't argue with him this time, although the thought of him leaving the car fills her with dread. "Do you have to?" she says, aware of how jittery she sounds.

Fitz leans over to her and takes her face in his hands. His touch is warm and comforting as his thumbs brush across her cheeks. "I'll only be a minute, I promise."

She nods, glumly, and watches as he opens the door and steps out. He walks onto the now muddy woodland floor, and disappears behind a tree. Jemma takes out her phone, noting that it's now almost quarter past nine, dials the number, and then sets her sights firmly on Fitz's tree.

_"I'm sorry, but your call cannot be connected at the moment. Please try again later."_

What?!

She hangs up and looks at the screen.

_Signal lost. Emergency calls only._

But just as she's about to try again, she catches a flash of movement in her peripheral vision, and turns her head towards it.

She screams.

* * *

**A/N: Dun dun duuuuuun! Please drop me a little note if you enjoyed! I can offer you cyber cake.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has left me such lovely reviews - I'm glad you're finding it suitably creepy!**

**Me - I'm sorry I didn't use your idea. I've got the whole story planned out, so I already know where it's going and what will happen. If there's something you're desperate to see, please log in and PM me. I prefer the review box being left for reviews (which are very much appreciated), and not just to ask me why I didn't use your idea :)**

**This chapter is a bit shorter, but I think ending where I did was a good idea. Because I'm evil.**

* * *

Fitz doesn't hear her at first, the rain that's dropping through the trees and pitter-pattering on the leaves, as well as the closed car, blocking out the sound.

He's just done his trousers up when the car horn blasts out, scaring the crap out of him, his heart jumping up into his throat, and it's then, when he moves from behind the tree, that he sees, and now hears, Jemma screaming.

Panicked, he runs to her, slipping a little on mud and wet leaves as he goes. She looks terrified, her voice high and hoarse.

_"FITZ! FITZ!"_

He rounds the front of the car and flings his door open, almost falling in his haste to get to her.

"DRIVE!"

"Je-"

"_DRIVE!_"

Fitz has no idea what's going on, but he doesn't need telling a third time. He starts the car with trembling hands, and the tires screech and slip on the wet road as he puts his foot down. Jemma's gasping, almost crying with fear, and it's all he can do not to stop and pull her into his arms.

"Jemma?!"

"There was a man! He was wearing a ski mask and he looked straight at me and then he turned towards where you were and I thought he was going to kill you!" The words tumble out of her mouth, each one tripping over the next.

Fitz swallows heavily, but he can't get his heart to sit back in his chest. "_What_?!"

Jemma pushes back in her seat, as if she's trying to bury herself within it, her fingers still digging into the sides, except now it's not because of the thunder, which has thankfully started to move away. "I saw him!"

"I... Jemma, I'm not saying you didn't. Just try and calm down..."

She shakes her head and stares at him with petrified eyes. "You don't believe me!"

What?! When had he said that?!

"You didn't see him..."

"No, no I didn't."

"He was right there! He went..." Jemma presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and exhales heavily.

Fitz makes a decision. He parks up again, just as the scenery switches back to open fields, ignoring Jemma's protests to not stop and just keep going as he locks the doors as a precaution.

"What are you doing?! He could be here!"

Jemma is one of the most rational people he knows, but she's scared and freaking out, so he takes hold of her hand and lets his other cradle the side of her head, his fingers moving soothingly into her hair.

"Look at me. There's no one here," he says, calmly. "There's no way he'd get here the same time as us. We're in a car. He's all the way back there," Fitz continues, jerking his head towards the direction they've just come from.

Jemma grips his hand tightly, her face stricken. "I thought..." Her shoulders shake and her face screws up as she lets out a sob.

"Hey..." Fitz pulls her to him as best he can.

"I can't lose you, not after you nearly... I can't." Her voice is muffled by his shoulder, and she's shaking like a washing machine on its spin cycle, her fingers dancing a jig against the back of his head as they tremble.

"It's okay," he soothes, rubbing a hand across her back. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart." This isn't like Jemma. He's seen her scared many times, but she's usually able to think, able to rationalise when not in immediate danger. Like now - they're locked in the car, and there's no creepy, masked man in sight. But she's wound up, and he can't help but think that that's his fault.

Fingers curl around the opening of his shirt, and she looks up at him. "I tried to call the police, but it wouldn't connect. The phone says emergency calls, but it won't do anything!" she chokes out, her breath hitching in her throat.

Well, that's not right. Fitz frowns and takes his own phone from his pocket. He dials the number and holds it to his ear.

_"I'm sorry, but your call cannot be connected at the moment. Please try again later."_

Fitz growls in frustration and chucks his phone onto the dashboard before rubbing his hands over his face. "I'm sorry, Jem."

"What for?" she asks, taking hold of his hand again and sliding her fingers in-between his. He squeezes them, gently.

He looks at her, takes in her anxious eyes, her slightly swollen bottom lip where she's been worrying it between her teeth, the strands of her hair that got damp when the heavens opened and are now curling against the sides of her face. "You wanted to go to Fairview. I thought it would be nice to try somewhere new. That worked out well," he sighs, his fingers picking lightly at the stitching on the steering wheel.

"It's not your fault. You couldn't have known. And I had a lovely time. But Fitz?"

He sweeps his eyes back to her.

"Can we _please_ get moving. If he finds us..."

So he drives. It's all they can do at the moment. They go two circuits, with no sign of the mysterious man in the mask, and Fitz feels guilty as he wonders if the stress of being lost and her obvious fear of the storm has made Jemma see things that aren't really there. The looming shapes of the trees in the dark, the rain... He believes that she believes that she saw someone. Or, he could just be trying to convince himself that there isn't a madman hiding in the woods or behind the hedgerows, biding his time before he pounces on them. And perhaps he wasn't a madman, perhaps he was just a man out for a walk in the storm - some people like that - and is completely innocent. In his ski mask... Oh god, there's a psychopath on the loose.

But that still doesn't explain why they seem to be stuck in a maze.

A tiny red light catches Fitz's eye, and he glances down briefly to see that the fuel light has come on. "Shit," he mutters.

Jemma leans towards him. "What?" Her eyes flick to the light. "Oh..."

"I don't know how long it's been on for."

He hears her let out a unsteady breath. "We can't stop." She's resolute. But, unfortunately, both she and him know that, sooner rather than later, the car will start to sputter, and then they'll be in serious trouble.

"Jemma, you know-"

"Yes, of course I know!" she snaps.

They fall into a tense silence, staying that way until the next time they reach the T-junction with the sign pointing to the woods, and icy fingers of dread crawl up Fitz's spine as he takes in the scene before them.

"Jemma..."

"Are those my boots?" she whispers, fragmented, her tone begging him to tell her they're not.

He can't say anything. Nothing at all, and he can't even blame any evil sea witches for that because they're nowhere near the ocean.

That, and he's not a mermaid. Man. Mer_man_.

He moves on autopilot, feeling sick and jelly-limbed as he opens his door and climbs out of the car.

"Fitz, what are you doing?! Come back!"

Jemma's calling frantically to him, but he reaches the sign and takes down the boots from where they've been slung over the top of it, their shoelaces tied together. He uses the beam from the car lights to look around as much as possible to see if anything else has been left, but he sees nothing.

"Fitz!"

He turns to see Jemma getting out of the car, and it's enough to snap him out of it and go running back. "Get in!" he shouts, unintentionally making her flinch, and leans in to open the boot before skidding round and flinging it open.

Everything's gone.

He bites his lip as it trembles, his eyes damp with fright. He slams the boot shut, jumps back in the car, and drives, skidding round the corner as he turns left.

Jemma's sniffling, breathing little gasps of air that she can't seem to control. She whispers his name, and he grabs her hand, resting it on the gearstick with his.

This is a nightmare.

It's like the plot of a slasher flick. They're being toyed with, hunted like prey, a lion stalking its next meal. Lion. That's what his given name means, brave as a lion. But he doesn't feel very brave, not without any tech. They haven't even brought an ICER with them - who needs a tranq gun for a nice day out in the woods? And even if they had, it would now be gone, along with the rest of their belongings. The thing is, though, he doesn't have any choice _but_ to be brave. He's had more field experience than Jemma, more practice at thinking on his feet in order to protect himself and those with him, and he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to her, and not just because of everything they've been through, not just because of what she's done for him, but because of everything that's passed since the very beginning, from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her, from the moment she'd first looked at _him_, with a smile in her honey eyes that had left his heart racing and his mouth drier than the vast hostility of the Sahara.

He's been watching, learning, soaking up everything he sees Coulson, May, Trip, and even Skye, do. Trip has even trained him a little, taught him how to throw his punches properly, so that he doesn't injure his hand or unbalance himself when faced with someone much bigger than he is (and, he has to concede, that's nine times out of ten).

"Fitz, what did you see?"

So, he'll be brave. Because fear can be controlled - he's already proved that to himself. Jemma is safe for the moment - they both are. But once the petrol runs out, once they're left exposed and vulnerable, he'll need to dig deep.

"You're scaring me, please say something..."

He'll die protecting her. He's tried before and he'll do it again. And he knows she'll die for him, despite how much that thought makes him ache with every fibre of his being, although they've already had that particular discussion - she's told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he's allowed to die for her, then she's allowed to die for him, and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it, that it's not fair for him to hold a monopoly on it. So he knows, despite how scared she is right now, that if it comes to it, she'll throw herself in front of this masked maniac if it means it'll give him a chance. That terrifies him more than anything, and he might be getting way ahead of himself, but the signs so far are certainly not pointing to anything sweet and innocent. It wouldn't do to kid themselves and be unprepared, and they know better than that, anyway - you don't get to become a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent by being slapdash and impetuous.

"_Fitz_!"

Fitz starts and comes back to himself at the sound of Jemma's frantic plea. He takes a steadying breath and blinks back the tears that he refuses to let fall. "It's all gone, it's-"

They both cry out at the same time, Fitz hitting the breaks so hard that the car skids on the wet surface and the back swings round, because they're on a bend and the wheels aren't straight. But they didn't manage to miss the dark shape in the middle of the road, the one they ploughed into before there was time to do anything else.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the wait with this chapter! Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review, so far - you're all wonderful.**

* * *

Pain is the only thing that Jemma can register in that moment. Pain from her seatbelt locking and cutting into her as she jolts forward. Pain from where she hits her head against the window as she's flung to the side. It stuns her, leaves her feeling woozy and disorientated, and she can hear a voice, distant, echoey, like her head is underwater...

_"Jemma..."_

She squeezes her eyes shut, tries to shake her head to clear it and sharpen her hearing, but it just makes her feel sick.

_"Jemma..."_

There's pressure, something pressing on her arm, her cheek. The voice sounds more insistent, panicked, even, and familiar...

"Jemma!"

Jemma inhales sharply, the world rushing back into focus much too fast. Blinking, her eyes come to rest on the worried face of her partner. "Fitz... Fitz!"

"Jemma-"

"-Are you all right?!" Her hands are suddenly all over him, checking for any sign of injury, the slightest sparkle of blood in the dim light.

Fitz takes hold of her hands and attempts to placate her. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Let me look at you." His hands move to her face, his eyes roaming over her. He gently turns her head, and she winces as his fingers brush across tender skin.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, sorry. Let me see," he says, moving over as much as he can to get a better look, and then he blows out a relieved breath of air. "You're not bleeding. Do you feel sick? Dizzy? Is your vision blurred?"

"Oh, god, what did we hit?!"

"Jemma! Focus on me. I need to make sure you're all right."

She stares at him with wide, watery eyes. "I'm okay... Fitz, was it _him_?" She almost doesn't want to ask, afraid of every answer that he could possibly give her.

"I don't know. But if he was lying in the bloody road, it's his own damn fault."

"Fitz!"

He sighs and looks down at his hands before bringing his eyes back up to hers. He looks torn, and she knows why. Under any other circumstances they'd be out of the car by now and running to the aid of whoever or whatever it was they'd hit. She doesn't like the thought of another person, or animal, lying there injured, or worse, despite what they might have done. But if it isn't him, then being out there leaves them even more vulnerable than they already are, and if it _is_ him, or someone else, then they can't just leave, they can't become hit-and-run offenders. She bites her lip.

"Jemma, if you want me to look, I will. If you want me to drive, I will. I'll do whatever you want."

"We... We need to look. I'm coming with you."

Fitz shakes his head. "No, you're injured."

Jemma slides trembling fingers into his own, shaky digits, and gives him what she hopes is a kind but firm expression. "I'm not letting you go out there alone. Besides, if we've hurt someone, I'll need to see what I can do to help, despite-" she holds a finger up, silencing him before he can protest, "-the fact that they might be who we've been running from. You know I'll have to," she adds, more gentle and almost guilty.

Another sigh. "I know." Fitz licks his lips, moistening them, then reaches across to the back seat to grab a torch. "Ready when you are."

She unclips her seatbelt, and nods.

The rain has stopped completely, now, and moonlight is trying to break through the clouds, but it's not enough to see much of anything. Jemma sways a little as she climbs out and stands upright, and Fitz is there almost instantly, steadying her, but he doesn't say a word, which she's grateful for. He knows she needs to do this. She's bloody terrified, and she's fighting to keep herself in check, but she moves forward, gripping onto Fitz's arm as he lights a path with the torch.

Not even two seconds later, they pause.

"You have got to be kidding me," Fitz says through gritted teeth, his whole body tensing.

In front of them, to her absolute horror and relief, are their rucksacks, and the rest of their belongings, now spread across the road.

"_Oh_..."

Quick as a flash, Fitz runs forward and grabs the bigger items. Jemma hops from foot to foot nervously, but she knows why he's doing it - they can't be left in the middle of the road, not if they're going to keep driving round and round, but also, the lunatic that's after them could very well just pick it all up and dump it on another stretch of road, and it's not like they can drive at a snail's pace just in case, not when someone else could finally come along, not when _he_ could just appear from nowhere...

"Let's go, quickly!" Fitz slings what he has over and across one arm, and guides her back to the car with the other, the pair of them crying out in alarm a moment later when a sharp '_snap_' echoes from the bushes, and she rushes forward and almost falls through the already open door. She slams it shut as Fitz throws what he has into the back and then locks the doors and starts the engine.

"We're never going to get out of here, are we?!" Jemma exclaims, panic once again tingeing her voice. She hates that she feels so out of control, but she knows it's completely justified - how could it not be?

"I don't... Yes. Yes we will. Somehow."

Jemma wishes she could just throw her arms around him, curl up on his lap and just hide the two of them away. She watches his face as he drives, tense, a sheen of perspiration making his skin glow in the dim light, his eyes dark and uneasy. She knows he's just as frightened as she is, despite how brave he's trying to be, but she also sees determination, and it doesn't matter that he isn't some Karate or Tae Kwon Do expert, because he still makes her feel safe.

A stinging itch pulls her eyes away from his face, and she reaches down the scratch at her foot, hissing a little as her nails meet torn skin.

"What's wrong? ...Did you get out the car with no shoes on?!"

"I took them off because they were wet, remember?"

"What have you done?" He's trying his best to look down at her sore limb without having to completely take his eyes off the road.

Jemma inspects the skin just under her heel. "It's nothing, just a graze."

"Maybe you should put your boots on."

She twists in her seat to look round to the back of the car where Fitz had thrown them earlier. She can't quite reach, so she slips off her seatbelt in order to turn better and lean over.

"Jemma..."

"Hang on... Got them."

She sits back round and puts her belt back on, much to Fitz's relief. She knows if they weren't in danger, he'd have stopped before allowing her to do that, afraid of the worst happening otherwise.

Tentatively, she slips her hand into one of the boots, just in case they've been filled with something horrible. To her relief, all she finds is her socks. She pulls them on, allowing herself a brief moment to bask in the comfort of them, then slides her feet into her boots. Her graze feels a little less sore surrounded by padding and warmth.

"Better?"

"Yes."

"...Jem?"

She places her hand over his. He's struggling with something, she can tell. "What is it?"

"You... You know I love you, don't you?"

What kind of a ridiculous question is that? It also means that he's probably about to say something that she won't agree with.

"Of course I do."

"Good."

All right, maybe he's not.

"Fitz..."

"I know, I know, I just..." he sighs and grips the steering wheel a little harder, and, in turn, her hold on his hand tightens.

"Just don't say it like the worst is going to happen."

She takes those words back minutes later, when the car starts to jerk, and eventually jolts to a stop.

xxxx

They're back along the road next to the woods, although they're at the beginning of it, this time. The first thing Fitz thinks is that at least they can run and hide amongst the trees if they need to, before mentally slapping himself - they're going to stay in this car for as long as they can. With the doors locked. And hopefully, this madman won't have anything on him with which to smash the windows in.

He briefly wishes he'd noticed when the fuel light had come on, but what difference would it have made? They'd still be stuck here, in this now unfriendly, uninviting place. He'd do anything to turn back the clock - when they'd driven here this morning, under beautiful blues skies and a bright sun, it had seemed like the most perfect day. Jemma had driven them there, and once they'd come off the motorway and onto the country roads, he'd tipped his seat back and put the window down further, sunglasses perched on his nose, hands behind his head, and she'd bugged him about sitting properly whilst they were in motion. He'd stuck his tongue out at her, she'd eyeballed him whilst trying not to laugh - everything had been completely as it should have been.

Now... Now they're stuck in some god-awful nightmare that he knows they won't wake up from because there's no waking up to be done. It's as real as their perfect day had been, and the contrast, the sudden drop into unknown terror, is sickening.

"It's well after ten, now," Jemma says, an almost whisper, as if she's afraid that speaking normally will tip this fright-night monster off that they're there, but Fitz is pretty sure that he either already knows, or will sooner or later, whether she shouts at the top of her lungs or not.

Leaning back in his seat, he rolls his head to the side to look at her. He wants to wrap her in cotton wool and protect her from absolutely everything, even though he knows she'd shout at him for it. He can't even describe the way his heart swells when he looks at her, when he thinks about her, when he tries to quantify how much he loves her (which, he's found, is an impossibility, and he's not surprised by that). He still can't even quite believe that she loves him back. But she does. He's the luckiest man alive, and his stomach twists into knots knowing that she's scared, that he can't get them out of this. But that doesn't mean he won't try his damnedest.

He nods his head. He can't say anything, because really, what can he?

"What was that?!"

Fitz jumps a little at Jemma's sudden gasp, and he sits up straight, his eyes flickering wildly as he turns his head this way and that, trying to see if he can see anything.

He can't.

"What was what?"

She points towards a section of trees, her hand as unsteady as he's ever seen it. "Over there - I saw something move..."

It's very dark, now, despite the fact that the moon is now peaking through the clouds left over from the short storm. They can barely see the road in front of them, never mind trying to spot someone hiding behind a tree.

He squints, and leans forward a bit further.

"It was a glint, like the moonlight reflecting off of something... A knife?"

"Jemma, don't say that."

"What? It could be! I mean, we have to stay vigilant."

Fitz widens his eyes at her. "You think I'm taking this lightly?" he asks, incredulous and just a little annoyed.

Jemma shakes her head. "No, no, no," she says, quickly, eager to show that that was not was she meant.

Of course she didn't, and the last thing he needs to do is pick a fight with her just because they're scared and wired.

She closes her eyes and sighs. "It's just... this is horrible. I'd rather see him coming than have him suddenly pop up in front of us. And why us? What did we do?"

"The wrong place at the right time." Fitz reaches across to squeeze her knee, her skin cool beneath the warmth of his palm. "Everything that's happened in the last couple of years, everything we've faced - it's not going to be _this_ that ends up as our downfall."

"No," Jemma agrees, her lips trying to form some sort of comforting smile, except she doesn't quite manage it, not when her eyes are shining with fear. "We haven't come this far just to-"

The scream that tears out of Jemma's throat has Fitz whipping himself around, and he shoots backwards, his hand hitting the hand-break at an awkward angle, but the pain is nothing compared to the terror he feels at the masked face before him. Jemma's clutching his arm, her fingers digging in so hard that he's sure she'll leave bruises, but he doesn't care, because there's a murderer at their window, a living horror movie cliché.

"Please go away, please please go away..."

The tearful murmur that falls from Jemma's lips spurs him into action.

"What do you want?!" He tries to sound as demanding as possible, but the man doesn't flinch. He just stares at them, a cold, grey, empty stare that sends chills rippling up and down Fitz's back.

"Leave us alone!" Jemma shouts, and this time, the man moves.

Very slowly, he tilts his head to the side, unblinking, and Fitz is certain that he's never seen anything so creepy in his life. Then he straightens, and walks around the front of the car to Jemma's side, and Fitz instantly moves to his far-right, pushing right up against his door. He pulls Jemma with him, sliding her haphazardly across the seats until she's on his lap, and he's holding her tight. They're both breathing as if they've just run a marathon, both trembling like jelly on a bouncy castle, and Jemma's whimpering as she tries her best not to sob with fright.

The man pulls something out of his pocket and slowly bends down, his arm extending towards the door. His hand is below the window, so they can't see what he's doing, but all of a sudden there's a whirring 'click-slide' sound that indicates that the door has been unlocked, which should be impossible considering they can only be unlocked from the outside on the driver's side, or with the remote key-fob.

"Fitz..." Jemma squirms in his lap, trying to get further away, but there's nowhere for her to go.

Just as eerily slowly as he's been doing everything else, the man takes hold of the door handle, and pulls at it.

"_NO_!-"

"-_NO_!"

They both yell out at the same time, useless pleas falling from their lips as the door opens wide. Then their tormentor takes a step back and just stares at them again. Jemma's sobbing, Fitz is gasping for breath, and the panic of waiting for this psychopath's next move has Fitz certain that he will suffer a heart attack.

He pretty much does when the masked man suddenly flies forward, grabs hold of Jemma's ankles, and pulls.


	5. Chapter 5

"NO! _NO_!" Jemma screams, kicking out at her attacker furiously, her body twisting as she tries desperately to shake him off.

Fitz is yelling at him, holding Jemma as tight as he possibly can, his heart thundering in his chest like a stampede of wildebeest. One of his legs is stuck underneath her, but he manages to free his other one enough to lash out and catch the man's wrist, and once he's found the right angle, he brings the heel of his shoe down hard, over and over again, until their attacker moves in just the right direction for him to kick his leg up and catch him in the face. It works, and he releases his hold as he stumbles back, straightening up outside the car and staring down at them. He makes no indication that he's in pain, makes no sound, lifts no hand to cradle his cheek. He simply stares, just like he did before.

"Fi-Fitz..." Jemma gulps down a huge breath of air, tears streaming down her face, her body trembling with fear.

"I'm here, I'm here, it's all right, my love..." he tries to reassure. Except, it's not all right, not at all. He presses a kiss against her hair, just above her ear, and then an idea pops into his head, and he moves his face down as close to her as he can so he can whisper as quietly as possible, so only she can hear. It may very well be a stupid idea, and god knows he's spent enough time shouting at clueless victims in horror films to know that it probably is, but right now, they really don't have a choice - it's either be exposed in an enclosed space and wait to die, or be exposed in a open space where they can run. "Jemma, I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay? I'm going to open this door," she tenses in his arms, and he runs the pad of his thumb across the top of her hand, "pull you back with me, and then we're going to run into the woods. Now, this is all going to happen very quickly, but we can't stay here and it's all we can do." He chances a glance at the masked-man, who hasn't made any attempt to move, but Fitz can see his eyes glinting in the growing moonlight, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to shudder. "Keep hold of my hand, okay? Do not let go." He feels Jemma squeeze his fingers in response. "Right, on the count of three: one, two... three!"

Fitz unlocks the door, grabs the handle and pushes it open all in one swift movement. With his free leg he launches them backwards, pushing against the floor of the car and dragging Jemma with him until she can get her footing. They shoot out, Fitz just managing to somehow keep them from falling onto the road, and he clasps her hand and pulls her after him as he takes off before he even gets his balance properly, the momentum keeping him going. Jemma stumbles behind him, and he manages to right her as they go, not stopping, his eyes focused on the trees in front of them. He can barely see, and he's worried that at any second they'll trip on a stump or a tree root and go flying, but that's a chance they'll have to take.

A few moments later, he chances a quick glance behind them - as far as he can tell, they're not being followed, but he doesn't stop to think why, doesn't allow himself to feel relief, because this is far from over. So they keep going until they're both gasping desperately for breath.

Fitz tugs Jemma behind an old oak tree, and they fall against it, breathing harshly, and he has to bend forward with his hands on his knees for a moment, to clear the spots dancing in front of his eyes. A warm hand presses comfortingly against his back. He can hear Jemma panting just as hard as he is.

"Fitz..."

"I'm okay," he wheezes out. He doesn't think he's ever run so fast in his life, and he's had a lot to run from, especially in the last two years. He's dizzy, much more than he should be - a little unwelcome present left over from almost drowning, although it's slowly righting itself. _Too slowly_, Fitz thinks. Running across half a field had been one thing, but this was just too much. Still, what else could they do?

"No, you're not," Jemma whispers, just in case, and Fitz cringes with guilt, because he's been keeping this from her. "You told me you didn't get dizzy anymore. That's why you wouldn't let me give you a physical, isn't it? So I wouldn't find out. God, Fitz - you've been _driving_."

Now really isn't the time or place for this conversation, and he'd been about to cut her off when she said _that_. "Jemma, I _promise _you, I would never, _ever_, get behind the wheel, especially with you in the car, if it wasn't safe. It's only when I over-exert myself, like now - too much running, mixed with fear and adrenalin." He takes her hand in his and traces the fingers of his other across the back of hers. "I'm sorry I kept it from you, I just didn't want you to worry, but - and this is the honest truth - it doesn't happened often, and it _is _better than it was. We'll talk about it later, and you can shout at me then."

Jemma sighs and presses her hands against his shoulders - he resists.

"We can't stop, Jem - we have to keep going."

"You looked back - did you see him?"

Fitz shakes his head. "No."

"Then sit, just for a minute until your head clears. It'll be much worse if you keep going and suddenly pass out." Her lips curve up into a soft smile, and maybe she's not as mad as he thought she'd be. "You know I'm right."

Of course she is.

He sighs in defeat, "all right," and takes her hand again, pulling her down with him. It's only when bottoms hit the floor that they remember the ground is wet.

"Ugh." Jemma moves to rest back on her heels instead.

Fitz stays where he is, past caring. He presses his cheek against Jemma's thigh and rests his head there for a moment, although he could happily stay like that when she starts running her fingers through his hair. There's just one small problem with that, what with there being a killer after them. He shifts and glances up at her. She looks exhausted, her eyes red from crying, skin grey from fright; he knows, if that creep touches her again, he'll kill him if he gets the chance, no matter that he's empty-handed - he'll find a way. Jemma hates killing full-stop, evil or not. He doesn't particularly relish it, either, but just like that time back at the Hub when that HYDRA agent had almost killed May, when he'd picked up a gun and shot the man before he could make his move, knowing it was kill or be killed... He'd do it again if he had to, despite the horrible, out-of-body experience it felt like. Even Jemma would kill if she absolutely had to. He knew she would for him, although he'd do everything possible to make sure she wouldn't have to - there was no way he wanted her to go through the emotions he had at the Hub.

Jemma shivers, and it's only then that it hits him that she's still dressed only in shorts and a vest top; the heat of the day is long gone, the storm has broken the humidity, and the rain has made everything that much cooler. Her raincoat is back in the car, thrown off when she was trying to get dry and warm after their little excursion, his jacket along with it, and all he can offer her is literally the shirt off his back. He does it without thinking.

"What are you doing?!"

"You're cold," he says, like what he's doing should be completely obvious. Jemma stops him just as he's about to pull it over his head.

"And what about you? You can't wander the woods half-naked. And you can't use the fact that you're Scottish as an excuse," she says, holding up a finger just as he's about to interrupt. "You're not more used to it at all - you get just as cold as I do. Besides, I don't think a t-shirt will really make that much difference." She kisses his cheek. "Thank you, though."

He acquiesces and pulls his t-shirt back down. "We should make a move." He stands and brings her up with him.

"I'm scared, Fitz."

He pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Me, too," he says, slipping his hand into hers.

Her thumb tickles the back of his hand. "Are you still dizzy?"

"No. I promise," he says, at the look on her face. "How about you?"

She shakes her head. "It was just a bump. I was a little disorientated when it happened, but I'm fine, now."

Fitz studies her face for a moment, then nods, satisfied. "Come on, let's go this way."

* * *

Jemma's so tired, she's amazed that she hasn't just collapsed in a heap on the ground. She's not sure how long they've been walking for, which direction they're going, or even if they're putting any actual distance between them and the monster that's tormenting them. She wants her bed so badly, wants to huddle up with Fitz, safe and warm, and just _sleep_. She doesn't want to be out here, trembling with cold and fear, jumping at every little sound that isn't their careful footsteps and worrying about what will happen to Fitz if they have to start running again.

Even if she had time to be upset with him right now, she probably wouldn't be, not really. Although she doesn't like that he kept it from her, she understands why he did. She does worry about him; she always has, and she can't help that.

The moon is shining brightly now, not quite full, but it's enough to help light their way a little, flecks of silver scattered across the trees and the wet ground. It's actually rather beautiful, but she can't appreciate it because her nerves are shot and she can still feel the cool hold of unwelcome hands wrapped tightly around her ankles, and she thinks if she looks down, she'll be able to see the imprint of his fingers, white dents against her already pale skin. The press of Fitz's warm hand against her own is the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Fitz?"

"Yeah? he whispers back, as he guides them down a sloping track.

"I'm sorry for implying that you'd put us in danger by driving - I know you'd never do that."

He continues to move them forward, and doesn't look round, but his grip on her hand tightens a little. "I know you know - it's all right."

He doesn't need to be looking at her for her to know that he's telling the truth.

Jemma has no idea where they are, if they've been going straight or if they've wandered round in a circle and are near where they started. All she knows is that, so far, there has been no sign of their attacker, but that doesn't mean that he isn't nearby, watching them, biding his time... She shivers and lets go of Fitz's hand in order to wrap her arms about herself. She rubs at them. British weather was so unpredictable. A hot day could either lead to a humid, sticky night, or to a rapid drop in temperature as soon as the sun had turned in. Even a good storm didn't always do much to alleviate the muggy air, but tonight it seems like all the odds are against them.

An arm snakes around her shoulders, and she smiles as Fitz joins in with warming her skin.

_SNAP._

Jemma jumps ten feet in the air, Fitz's t-shirt bunching in her fists as she clings onto him, her breathing quickening and puffing out in little rasps. "Please tell me that was a deer, or a fox, or a rabbit-" She starts to ramble, frightened, thinking of all manner of awful things that could be about to befall them, until a finger presses gently against her lips and cuts her off.

They both stand as still as statues, ears straining for any other sound.

Minutes pass, and they hear nothing.

Fitz turns Jemma in a different direction and gives her a gentle push to get her walking again. She's in front of him, now, no doubt so that he can protect her from anything that comes from behind, but she doesn't want him to, despite the warmth that spreads through her, because they're equals, and she wants to walk side-by-side with him, clutching onto his arm as he clutches onto hers. Besides, not being able to feel his body against hers, not being able to see him, puts her even more on edge.

"You know, sweetheart, I'd actually prefer it if we could..." She turns around, about to fall in next to him and slide her arm through his, but instead, she's met with empty air.

Fitz is gone.

* * *

**A/N: Eek! Um... Cookie? **


	6. Chapter 6

Jemma's stomach turns unpleasantly as she whips round in a circle, her eyes everywhere, her skin prickling with goosebumps. "Fitz?! FITZ!"

She can't see him, and the panic that once again floods through her makes her light-headed and jelly-legged. "Where are you?!" she shouts, desperately, her voice wavering dangerously as the familiar prick of tears begins to sting her eyes. "Leopold Fitz, this isn't funny!"

She's mortified, her hands flying to her mouth as soon as the words have finished tumbling from her lips. How could she have said that?! There's a madman after them, and he would never, _ever_. But she's so frightened that she almost wishes that he _were_ playing games with her. Instead, she's now worrying that he's been snatched from within inches of her, plucked away so silently that it could have been by some supernatural force, if she believed in that stuff.

Jemma stumbles forward and starts to run, darting through trees and scanning everywhere her eyes can reach, going back over the path they'd just taken and turning in circles as she goes. "Fitz! Oh, god, please, please, _please_..." She's sobbing the words out, now, unable to keep control of her hysteria, worried that at any second she could trip over Fitz's body, or that she'll see a trail of blood sparkling like a river of rubies in the moonlight. "FITZ!" She's going to go insane with fear, she can feel it. Every time she shouts his name and he doesn't reply, the contents of her stomach forces its way a little further up, and she can't breathe and the world is spinning. "FITZ!" And even though he doesn't particularly like it when she uses his first name, she screams "LEO!" out of desperation, hoping he'll pop out from behind a tree or a bush and tut at her for it. But he doesn't.

This is so different to being out in the field on a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission, even though they can be just as dangerous, even though she's nearly died more than once. She can't apply the skills she's learned, here. This isn't something she can fight with science, she doesn't have a night-night gun, or a comms device in her ear linking her to the others and knowing that they're doing their best to help. It's not something she can try and talk her way out of. She can't try and reason with whoever is doing this. This person's motives aren't anything to do with S.H.I.E.L.D., aren't about personal gain and what she can give them or tell them. What it is is lost and alone in the woods, in the dark, with a psychopath who probably won't be up for talking when he could be hacking her into little pieces and scattering her across the countryside. And that's the gruesome thought that finally does it, especially as images of the man she loves flicker through her over-active imagination, and vomit burns at the back of her throat before forcing itself all the way up as she retches. One hand pressed against the rough bark of the nearest tree, Jemma throws up, sobbing as she does and struggling for breath in the brief moments of respite before her stomach contracts again. Sweat beads at her forehead, her head spins, and it feels like forever before she stops, boneless and exhausted as she hugs the trunk of the great Ash she's clinging to, while she painfully gulps down air.

Once Jemma feels like she can move without falling over, she lets go and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth with a grimace before spitting to try and clear the bitter taste away. She's almost as desperate for water as she was for oxygen only moments ago.

She lifts her other hand to her eyes and rubs across them, then gingerly moves away from the support of the tree, away from the puddle of vomit by her feet. She wavers a little, her arms flinging out to support her as if she's walking across a tightrope - she might as well be.

"Fitz?" Jemma calls out weakly, as she twists a new path. "Please come back..."

xxxx

Fitz is dumbfounded. Jemma was right there, was right in front of him... And then she wasn't.

"JEMMA!" He darts through the trees, slipping a little in his haste to find her. "JEMMA!" He doesn't understand. She'd simply vanished. He'd blinked, and it had been like a bad edit, like an old video with the tape chewed, the scene jumping forward and missing a vital part. And he can't even fix it, because it's not tangible, real life can't be rewound, and oh, god, where is she?

Did _he_ take her? No, no, that's ridiculous, he would have seen. Fitz moves a hand across his stomach and up his chest, trying to press away the panic, the swirling ache, the thunder of his heart.

He keeps on running, shouting frantically into the darkness, "Jemma! Jemma! JEMMA!"

What if somehow he _has _got hold of her? What if he's actually some kind of super-villain with the ability to move so fast that he was undetectable, so fast that no disturbance had been created, so fast that someone may as well have cast a spell to blink her out of existence, except that's stupid, because he doesn't believe in magic, and of _course_ Jemma still exists - he just needs to find her, and soon. The thought that that maniac could have her, that she could be hurt, that she could be crying out for him, makes his head spin. His eyes are filling with tears as his brain goes on a rampage, and then he gets a boost of adrenalin as anger takes over, the blood in his veins boiling with rage.

Fitz doesn't realise until he's holding it that he's picked up a hefty, broken piece of branch. It's rough and damp in his grasp, the bark biting into his skin. He has no idea what he's doing, and tears are streaming down his face, but he doesn't care. He needs Jemma, needs her like he needs to breathe, needs her warmth and her touch and to feel her breath across his face so he knows that she's here and she's real.

There's a rustle behind him, almost imperceptible, but he hears it, and he swings round, his hand shaking as he holds the branch up. His breath sticks in his throat, and it takes everything he has to hold it together.

_He's _there, in his stupid mask with his dead eyes, just standing and staring at him once again. Then, very slowly, he reaches behind him and pulls a knife from the waistband of his trousers. It's wide, a butcher's cleaver, and it glints as it catches the moonlight.

The first thing Fitz really notices about it is that it's not covered in blood, and neither is _he_, and he takes that to mean that Jemma is still alive, and it's that thought that he clings to, that thought that makes him feel just that little bit braver as his hand tightens around the branch in his right hand, even though his pulse is racing, thrumming like a heavy bass-line.

Fitz isn't sure how long they stand there looking at each other, and for a moment he feels as if he's in a Western, waiting to draw. All his senses are heightened - he can feel the cool breeze caressing his skin and gently ruffling his hair, the ground simultaneously hard and soft beneath his feet, the smell of wet dirt, earthy and musty, filling his nostrils, and he inhales deeply.

If he's about to be cut to pieces, he's not going down without a fight, and just as he thinks that, the knife-wielding nightmare from hell - 'Mask-Face', Fitz has decided to call him - suddenly springs towards him, and Fitz jumps out of his path, his breath leaving his body. He twirls round, his arm held high. He's not going to run away - if he's going to keep him away from Jemma, he needs to fight, to maim him as much as he possibly can so he can't go after her; after _them, _if he manages to escape. The thing is, though, despite everything he's been thinking and planning, things never turn out the way you want them to, and after a brief tussle, Fitz finds himself on his back, branch still in hand. He'd managed to get a very satisfying whack to the side of the head in before he went down, but this guy is strong and overpowering, and, as before, when Fitz had kicked him in the face, he'd barely flinched.

Fitz grits his teeth and grunts as he tries to push Mask-Face off of him, his hands flat against his chest. The cleaver is raised high above him, and by some stroke of luck, the change in position allows him to bring up his knee, hard. Mask-Face loses his balance, just momentarily, but it's long enough for Fitz to wriggle free just as the knife comes down where his head had been a split second before. He jumps up, stumbles backwards in his haste, and then the staring match picks up from where it had left off.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Mask-Face does his creepy head-tilt again, and Fitz would swear that he's possessed. Except, that's ridiculous.

"Where's my girlfriend? Did you take her?"

Silence.

"Answer me!"

One step backwards, and Mask-Face vanishes into thin air, just like Jemma had.

Fitz stands his ground, breathing heavily, his eyes wide and his ears listening out for the tiniest sound. He doesn't have time to ponder over whether he believes what he's just seen, especially as, seconds later, the villain of the piece appears from nowhere right in front of him. Fitz doesn't have time to react, doesn't even get the chance to blink, before he goes flying backwards. He slams painfully against the trunk of a tree, and slides down to the floor, winded, his face contorted in pain.

Mask-Face comes to stand in front of him, the cleaver hanging at his side. Fitz tries desperately to move, and as Mask-Face leans closer, he reaches a hand up and grabs at him, his hand slipping into his mouth to yank his jaw down, while his other wraps around the arm holding the knife to try and keep it away from him.

It should hurt, but instead Mask-Face lets out a shriek of unnatural laughter, and a shiver climbs its way up Fitz's spine and spreads out like fractured ice. Then he screams as teeth sink down into his hand, a lightning bolt of pain shooting up his arm, and he tries desperately to shove and kick him away.

When Mask-Face finally releases him and steps back, he disappears again.

xxxx

Jemma didn't think she could be any more frightened than she already was, but when he suddenly appears in front of her, the edges of his mouth she can see around his mask covered in blood, splotches of it smeared on the dark material covering his face, her heart hammers so fast she thinks it's going to tunnel its way out of her chest and plop out into her hands.

Then he grins, his teeth bloody, and she has to fight the urge to vomit again.

Fitz.

This psychopath has hurt him. Has...

No. She refuses to think about it. Fitz is fine. He's alive, he _has _to be, because if she convinces herself, even for a moment, that he isn't, then she won't make it. She'll crumble, and she can't do that, because if he's out there, he'll need her.

"What have you done to him? What have you DONE?!" The shriek that forces its way out of her throat is so raw that it hurts, sandpaper roughing up delicate flesh. She steps back, trying desperately hard not to cry, and looks around her for anything she can use to protect herself. She spots a small rock lying half-hidden under a bush, and leans down sideways to grab it, her eyes back on him, afraid to leave him for too long in case he lunges forward and catches her off-guard. She rubs her thumb over the rough edges of the stone, pulling a shred of comfort from it like it's some sort of medieval stress reliever.

Who is he? _What _is he? She refuses to believe what the dark stickiness around his mouth could mean. Had Fitz struck him? Or was it something much, much worse and unthinkable?_  
_

For a few moments, they're caught in a staring contest, and Jemma is so focussed on his eyes, afraid to look away, that she's not prepared when he suddenly lunges towards her. She cries out and hurls the rock she's holding, but not having had the chance to fix her aim, it soars uselessly past his head.

She has no choice now but to run, so she does, her feet slipping as her body, terrified and shocked, refuses to co-ordinate. When she does finally manage to turn her desperate scrambling into a wobbly sprint, he's only a few paces behind her, and suddenly the earth is rushing up to meet her as she's shoved, hard, and goes toppling forward with a sharp scream. She doesn't even have time to put her hands out, and she lands flat on her face, the side of her head scraping painfully against a tree trunk. Jemma lies on her front with her face screwed up, the breath knocked right from her, and then a pair of black-booted feet stop beside her, and she slowly glances up to see a cleaver dangling nonchalantly at his side.

"No..." she chokes out, "No!" Jemma thrusts herself up, ignoring the pain that's pulsing through her, but he reaches down and grabs her around the neck, pinning her to the tree that was responsible for the blood that's now trickling down her face. She's gasping, panicking, and her is vision blurring, but she manages to clench a hand around his wrist, desperately trying to relieve some of the pressure so that she can breathe, and then, somehow, she manages to pull from somewhere the strength to lift her other hand to his face, and with an enormous amount of effort, Jemma stabs her index finger into his eye. He howls, and as he does his grip loosens, and Jemma bolts away from him, but her freedom is short-lived as a heavy arm strikes a blow across her back, and she falls awkwardly, her ankle twisting beneath her. She screams in agony, screams out of terror and the sheer frustration of not knowing what to do, of not being able to get away so that she can find Fitz and help him, so he's not alone and suffering and bleeding out...

No.

Jemma pushes herself up onto her forearms and drags herself forward, twigs and soggy dirt and leaves scraping against her bare legs. She tries to stand, but cries out when pain shoots from her ankle like a ball of fire, and she stumbles as she tries to right herself, limping forward to try and get away, but it's no use. She looks back over her shoulder and sees him walking towards her, taking his time, and the torture is unbearable. She sobs, not bothering to try and keep it in any longer, her tears mixing with the blood and dirt and streaking down her face.

Then he's in front of her again, and the blood-curdling scream that rips from her as he raises the cleaver into the air is so unnatural that it doesn't even sound like its come from her own mouth.

She screws her eyes shut, and her last thought is of Fitz.

Or at least, it would have been if seconds hadn't passed by with nothing happening, and when Jemma nervously blinks her eyes open, the urge to know what's going on too great, he's not there.

He's gone. Again.

Jemma doesn't waste time thinking why. Instead she sucks in a few deep, raspy breaths, and limps along as fast as she can, her teeth gritting against the pain. She calls Fitz's name as she goes, desperate for him, but he never answers, and it's killing her.

Maybe that's the point. To frighten them to death. To toy with them until their hearts can no longer take it. She doesn't understand how he just keeps vanishing, and she doesn't care right now - all she wants is Fitz, wants to see his beautiful face and his summer-sky eyes and feel the press of his arms around her. So she keeps moving, goes back to fighting down sobs in an enormous effort to breathe.

She's not aware of time passing, has no idea just how long she's been dragging herself along, but when she throws a glance over her shoulder to see if she's being followed, and consequently smacks into something solid, something that grabs her arms and holds her still, she screams again. Because, really, at this point, what else can she do?

* * *

**A/N: And that, folks, was the penultimate chapter. Sorry for the unoriginal name Fitz gives the bad guy, but I couldn't think of anything else, and Fitz is a bit too preoccupied to think it through, anyway, so... Yeah. Mask-Face it is.**

**Thoughts? *Runs away from potential lynch mob***


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm sorry this final chapter has taken so long. I've had a horrible cold, and when I'm bunged up and headachy, concentrating on writing is impossible.**

**Thank you to everyone who has stuck with it, and also to those who have left me lovely reviews.**

**This last chapter is just mostly tying things up, but I hope it does so in a satisfying way. I knew exactly what was happening to them from the very beginning, but I'm not that good at writing fake science (I'm not that good at writing real science, either), so I haven't gone into it much, but I think it makes sense (well, does to me...).**

**Onwards! **

* * *

Jemma struggles against the strong hands holding her in place, her whole body fighting to get away. This isn't fair. How can he be doing this? How can he be everywhere and nowhere, how can she search and search and not find Fitz, yet _he_ can find her whenever he wants to? She feels so weak, so fatigued, but she keeps on trying to pull away, willing her body to not collapse under the strain of terror and exhaustion, because the adrenalin left her long ago, and she's not sure just how much longer she can go on. So, for now, she fights, her body twisting as she thrashes.

"Simmons..."

"No... NO! LET ME GO!" Jemma has no idea how this man knows her name, and she doesn't care - she just needs to get away, because all the while he's got hold of her, Fitz is alone and bleeding and needing her.

"Jemma!"

In the midst of her screaming, of her trying to kick him, something registers in the back of her mind, something familiar and calming, but because her first instinct is to try and escape, she can't concentrate on it.

"Jemma, _stop_! It's me, it's Coulson..."

What?

Confused, Jemma slows her movements, her eyes, from their position over his shoulder, move up to the man's face, and as they focus, as the mist of panic clears, she sees not the masked face of a maniac, but the concerned gaze of someone she recognises as warm and comforting and safe.

Her mouth drops open, a wretched sob falls from her lips, and she throws her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder as relief floods through her.

"It's all right, you're okay... Look at me, Jemma."

She does so, lifting her head with effort, as if lead has replaced the bone of her skull, and it makes her grimace through her tears. "Fitz..."

"The others are looking for him. Tell me what happened."

She does so, as best she can, her normally articulate speech rushed, her words running into each other as she hurries through the nightmare of the last few hours. "Fitz is hurt, I know it. We need to find him!"

"Simmons, you're not going anywhere. Come over here, sit down - that's an order." Coulson leads her over to a fallen tree and sits her down on the trunk. He starts to look her over properly, turning her head this way and that, and Jemma winces as he dabs his tie against the wound by her temple.

It's then that Jemma realises that she must look a fright. She can feel the blood and dirt on her face, can see the mud that's streaked down her front and caked on her arms and legs.

"Oh, my god!"

Jemma's head shoots up at the breathless exclamation, and she sees Skye running towards her, the young agent's face clouded with concern.

"Jesus. What the hell happened to you?" She sits on the log next to Jemma, places one hand on her knee and the other on her arm. But it doesn't make her feel any better.

"Skye, stay here with Simmons - I'm going to go help May and Trip look for Fitz. Do not let her go anywhere."

"Yeah, sure," Skye nods.

Jemma pushes the tips of her fingers into the rough bark of the fallen tree, using the hard, jagged press of it to keep her grounded, because she feels as though at any second she'll float away on a wave of grief where Fitz is dead and everything as she knows it ceases to exist.

xxxx

Fitz cradles his aching hand against his chest, trying to ignore the biting sting of torn flesh and the warm dripping of his blood as he ambles aimlessly though the trees, still calling Jemma's name as he goes. His eyes are heavy, and he's starting to shiver, but whether that's because he's cold or because he's in shock, he can't tell. His head's starting to spin again, and it's slowing him down, but he continues to trip forward, because he's not going to stop until he finds her.

A rustle from behind has him spinning precariously round, and he squints into the darkness as he tries to spot the source of the noise, his breath quickening.

"Hey!" He moves forward, blinking as he tries to focus his gaze. "Come on out! I'm not afraid of you!" He's aware that he sounds a little drunk.

A shape looms before him, shrouded by the trees, and he tenses up, only to drop his shoulders seconds later, his jaw slackening and his brow furrowing in confusion. Just as he's starting to convince himself that he's hallucinating, the figure steps out into the moonlight and hurries towards him.

"Trip?"

"Fitz, man, what the hell happened to you?!"

Trip is in front of him and taking hold of his arm before he even has time to process anything. He tries to pull away. "We need to find Jemma - he's out there and she's in danger and we have to find her!"

"Fitz, calm down, the others are out there looking - we'll find her, I promise. Let me look at your hand..." He turns it over, and Fitz hisses as fingers press gently just at the edge of the wound. "Sorry," Trip grimaces, and releases his hand. "You haven't lost any feeling - that's a good thing." He rips off the sleeve of his shirt, pulls at the seams so it tears and becomes just a strip of material - he ties it around Fitz's hand in an effort to stem the bleeding. Fitz barely flinches this time.

A cry suddenly pierces the air from near the direction from which Trip had appeared, and they listen as grunts and thuds fill the air before becoming silent again. Seconds later, May appears, dragging a body behind her.

"That's him! That's-" Fitz wobbles as he moves forward, and a hand flies out to steady him.

"Easy, easy." Trip holds him upright, and nods towards May. "We need to get him to a hospital." He nods towards the unconscious man behind her. "Any idea who he is?"

"No, but I'm sure I can get him to talk once he wakes up." She opens up her palm to reveal a small, round, metal button. "He was holding this."

Trip leans forward to look at it. "What is it?"

"Not a clue. Fitz?"

Fitz shakes his head, his vision cloudy. "Never seen it. I'd have to..." he sways, and May pockets the small device and hauls up the still masked man lying at her feet.

"I want to see his face..."

"Not now. Let's find the others and get you out of here."

"Jemma..."

"We'll find her."

"How did you know where we were?"

May looks at him sympathetically, but he can tell that this is something he should already know. "Your phones have trackers, remember?"

Oh, bloody hell. Yes, of _course_ - after all, he was the one who'd put them there. He'd smack his hand against his head if he had the energy.

"Hey, don't worry about it. You've had enough to be dealing with for one night."

xxxx

The cry of relief that tears from Jemma's throat when she sees him nearly rips Fitz in two. Trip is still half holding him up, but with renewed vigour he pulls away from him and runs haphazardly towards her. Dried blood is smeared down and across her face, is matted in her hair, her body plastered with mud, but she's alive, and that's all that matters, despite the fact that he wishes he had the energy to turn round and kick the unconscious Mask-Face in his stomach for hurting her, because he clearly has. She falls into his arms and sobs into his neck, and he holds her tight, breathing her in to make sure she's really real.

"I thought you were dead! I couldn't find you anywhere, and... Oh, god, your hand!" Jemma wraps one of her own around his wrist and looks at the blood stained cloth that's tied around it. "He bit you, didn't he? I saw his mouth smeared in blood, and I thought..." she chokes back another sob and presses her cheek to his.

He threads his good hand through her hair in an attempt to soothe her. "I'm all right, I..." The shot of adrenalin that had briefly seared through him wears off, and he stumbles a little against her.

Coulson appears at his side and slings a supporting arm around him. "Let's get you two out of here."

xxxx

The drive to the hospital is a quiet one. Jemma clings to Fitz and watches him closely. He's conscious, but in shock. She can't see the damage to his hand beneath its wrappings, but she can tell that it's bad.

They're in the car with Coulson and Skye. Trip and May are in their rental car with the man who'd caused this whole mess. As it happens, now they're able to leave the area easily without getting lost or going round in circles, and while she's desperate to know just who he is and how he was able to keep them captive, that's not as important right now as getting to the hospital is so they can both be checked out. She's certain that she's fine, unlike Fitz, but Fitz had mentioned that she'd hit her head during their earlier collision, and Couslon was adamant that she get checked out, too.

Once there, they're separated, much to Jemma's chagrin, but she doesn't have the energy to argue. It's almost three hours before she sees Fitz again, and to her relief, he's looking a lot better. There's a drip in his arm, the fluid bag almost empty, and his hand is bandaged neatly. He has colour back in his cheeks, and when he sees her, the smile that lights up his face almost makes her cry again. She sits down on the edge of his bed and sighs as he wraps his arms around her, his forehead resting against hers, and she makes sure to mind the tube attached to him as she hugs him back.

"You're okay..."

"Twelve stitches, but it still works." He wriggles his fingers to show her, and she gives him a watery smile.

"I was so scared."

"Me, too. But it's over. We're safe. All I needed to know was that you were okay... You are okay, right? What did the doctor say?" He pulls back to stare at her, concern written openly across his face as he takes in the patch taped to the side of her head from where she'd scraped it against the tree.

She nods. "I'm fine. Just cuts and bruises. No concussion, although I was forced to take a leaflet about it, just in case, as if we don't already know the signs." She picks up his injured hand carefully. "You'll have a scar," she says, sadly. She knows he was lucky, knows it could have been much worse, but she's always loved his hands, and while she of course won't love them any less, she's angry that he's been marked in such a barbaric way, that the part of him he uses the most, not just in everyday life, but for his job, has been violated so thoughtlessly. He's had a tough year, and to lose the use of a hand now, after everything he's been through, after not knowing at first how his arm would heal, would have been utterly devastating for him.

Fitz shakes his head. "I can live with a scar. I couldn't live without _you_." He cups her face and leans in to press his lips gently to hers.

"Knock knock!" Skye's voice floats round from behind the curtain, and when Fitz calls her through, she steps into the cubicle with a smile on her face. "The nurse is gonna come take out your IV in a minute, and she'll bring the pills for your hand and your discharge papers, and then we can get out of here and tuck you both up in bed. Trip returned the car for you and is sorting out the damage, and May is back at the Bus interrogating that lunatic as we speak. Don't worry," she says, her face softening, "we'll find out just who he is and how he did it. And then he'll pay."

Jemma shudders involuntarily. She hates the thought that he might still be there when they return. What will happen to him and who they'll have to turn him over to depends entirely on who he is and how he managed to trap them - it might be more than the local police force can handle, especially if it turns out that he's been using technology that no average Joe has even seen or can even comprehend.

"Don't worry," Fitz comforts, as if reading her mind. "You won't have to see him - he can't hurt us anymore."

"I know." She worries her lip between her teeth, and drops her voice to a whisper, her eyes shifting away from Fitz's gaze. "I just honestly thought, after being taunted by him for so long, that his intention was to frighten us to death, to drive us mad, and when it felt like it was starting to work..." She shakes her head and watches numbly as Fitz covers her hand with his. "I don't want to go back to the Bus, tonight; I don't want to sleep in that little bunk on my own."

"You won't have to."

"We can't share - there's only just enough room for one of us. One of us will end up squashed against the wall or falling out of bed."

"No, I meant that I'll come sleep on your floor."

Jemma brings her eyes back up to his, and the beautiful pools of blue staring back at her, earnest and true, make her heart swell. She cradles his cheek in her hand, his skin rough where stubble is starting to poke through. "That's sweet, but no. You need a proper night's rest in a bed."

"I have an idea."

Skye. They'd almost forgotten that she was there. The hacker smiles at them. "Give me a minute." She moves back through the curtain, nearly colliding with the nurse as she enters at the same time. Skye gives her a wave of apology as she goes.

"You'll be pleased to know that you can escape at last," the nurse smiles, moving over to disconnect the IV and remove the cannula from Fitz's arm. "You must be Jemma," she smiles, glancing up at her before looking down to concentrate on her work. Fitz hisses a little as the needle is carefully pulled from the inside of his elbow. "I tried to find you earlier, and when I asked Leo what you looked like, he said "She looks like an angel". He wasn't wrong."

Fitz blushes, and Jemma laughs. He's adorable when he's embarrassed, but she's touched by his description.

"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to embarrass your patients," Fitz grumbles, and the nurse grins at Jemma knowingly before taping some gauze over where the cannula had been to stem the bleeding. She pats his knee and picks up two boxes that she'd placed on the bed when she'd come in. "Now, these are your painkillers," she says, holding up the first one. "Take one or two, every four to six hours, and don't take more than eight in a day." She passes them to him, then holds up the other box. "These are your antibiotics. Take one three times a day - breakfast, lunch, and dinner would be best - and make sure you finish the full course. They're just a precaution, but nevertheless, do not miss any."

Fitz takes them from her hand, and just manages to suppress an eye-roll. "I won't."

"I'll make sure he won't," Jemma assures her. While Fitz probably wouldn't, she knew what he was like when his mind wandered - she'd have to make sure he set an alarm on his phone to remind him, just in case they were separated at some point for any reason. And at that thought, she feels her blood turn to ice in her veins. She never wants to be separated from him again, not even for work purposes, even though she knows it's inevitable.

"Excellent." The nurse picks up the papers she'd also placed down, and hands them to him. "You're now discharged."

Fitz throws her a smile of gratitude. "Thanks."

She beams one back. "You're very welcome."

Once they're alone again, Jemma looks at Fitz questioningly, her mouth stretching upwards, and her eyes crinkling. "An angel?"

"I was delirious," he huffs, his fingers picking at an invisible thread on the bed-sheet.

"So, you _don't_ think I look like an angel?" Her tone is light and teasing, but Fitz still manages to look up at her with a vaguely alarmed expression.

"I never said that."

"So, you _do_?" Jemma catches her tongue between her teeth, seeing the exact moment of comprehension on Fitz's face when he realises that she's messing with him.

"Hmmm, maybe I did, but I think, on the basis of new evidence, that you're a little too mean to be an angel."

"Hey!" Jemma laughs, and buries her face in his neck as he envelopes her again. But seconds later, the melancholy that had temporarily left her swoops back in, darkening her thoughts like a storm cloud passing overhead, and she grips him tighter.

"Right, I have some good news for you guys."

Jemma and Fitz both look up at Skye simultaneously as she steps back into the cubicle.

"Coulson's booked you a room in a little hotel not far from the airfield. You can sleep there, and one of us will swing by and get you in the morning. We're not flying anywhere tonight."

Fitz smiles appreciatively, his eyes tinged red from exhaustion. "Thanks, Skye."

"No problem. Come on, let's get out of here."

xxxx

They're back on the Bus late the next morning, after having spent the night curled up together in a fitful sleep plagued by nightmares, and now they're being told things that Fitz is having trouble getting his head around. He knows about aliens, knows the limitless possibilities when it comes to their technology, but still, the thought that someone could open up and jump through portals whenever they pleased, and how that actually worked, made the faint headache he still had a little worse. They've dealt with a dead man trapped between worlds, before, but to be able to jump through a portal at the push of a tiny button, a portal so invisible that they had been driving through it over and over again... The engineer in him wants to take it apart and study it, probe its inner workings and see if he can recreate it - after all, he's managed to repair Asgardian metal, before. And he knows Jemma is thinking the same thing. But, for now, the events of the night before are far too fresh in their minds to to be able to concentrate at the level needed to work through such a discovery. His eyes are already drooping, and they only woke-up a few hours ago. Plus, his hand aches beyond belief, despite the fact that he's dosed up on painkillers.

"I have no idea how he escaped our radar. When we captured those Hydra agents, we thought that was it, a two-man team, and we'd recovered all the tech they had. It was planned - he'd managed to listen in on the conversation you had the night before you went out there, and then he tracked you and lay in wait. I'm sorry - this should never have happened."

Coulson sounds angry, disappointed in himself, but it's not his fault. Fitz knows it, and Jemma knows it.

"Sir-"

"No. I know what you're going to say, but you're part of _my_ team, and you're _my_ responsibility. He went after you because you're not trained like the others. And if we hadn't got there when we did..." Coulson sighs and rubs a hand across his eyes.

He doesn't need to finish that sentence. It might have seemed like he was trying to frighten them to death, but in the end he would have killed them, used the cleaver that he'd been taunting them with and murdered them without a second thought. Fitz swallows hard, forcing down the sudden queasiness that's crawling up from his stomach. He glances at Jemma, who's staring down at Coulson's desk, her fingers drawling non-committal circles across the wood. She's pale, and he reaches for her hand and squeezes reassuringly.

"This isn't over," Coulson finally continues, his face set in determination. "They won't get away with this."

Fitz nods. "Thank you, sir."

Coulson pops open the button on his jacket and sits down behind his desk. "I don't want either of you anywhere near the lab today. No offence, but neither of you look fit for it. Go sleep, watch some TV, drink tea."

Jemma's face perks up a little, and she gives the director an amused half-smile. "Is that all you think we do? Drink tea?"

He smirks at her. "The way you Brits get through it, I assumed it had magical properties."

Jemma snorts out a laugh.

"That's better. Now, go on," he inclines his head towards the door, "go relax - that's an order."

They don't need telling twice.

xxxx

"Jem?" Fitz approaches her with a cup of tea and nudges her knee with his leg to get her attention. She glances up at him with tired eyes and a smile that doesn't quite reach the amber gaze he's looking into, although the "Thank you" she gives him is genuine as he sets her mug down in front of her. When he lowers himself next to her, she curls into him, and he presses a kiss to her hair.

They drink their tea in silence, trying to ignore the fact that the crazed Hydra agent is not too far away, locked up in the Cage after Couslon found that he'd have to go back with them, and Fitz has nearly nodded off when Jemma touches his face and brings his attention back to her.

"We survived," she says, as if she's only just realised that they're actually still here. Fitz weaves his fingers through hers.

"We always will."

"Fitz-"

He moves his hand quickly and cuts her off with a finger to her lips. "No. I know what you're going to say, but let us just wallow in ignorant bliss, for now, okay?"

Jemma smiles softly at him, and it reaches her eyes this time. "Fine. But it doesn't mean we can be lax when it comes to protecting ourselves from danger."

"Of course not. I just need to believe it, otherwise I'll never get anything else done." He knows she understands that, and this is confirmed when she rests her head against his shoulder and sighs. Her fingers slip back between his, and soon they're both asleep, cuddled up on the small sofa in the living area, and thankfully, unlike the night before, their slumber goes undisturbed.


End file.
